To Rouse A Lion
by NineTimesNamed
Summary: Elan is a coward. She's been running and hiding and ducking for as long as she can remember- she refuses to even think about what it is she's running from. It's a feeling she gets at night, or a shiver down her spine, and then she's off. Which must be MiM's big joke, because she's the spirit of Courage. What if, after 600 years, she's forced to stop? (?/OC)
1. Stout

**(A/N): My second attempt at writing fanfiction. Loved the movie, of course, it left so much to the imagination! In fact, I'd say most of the real meat of the story is all for the watcher to fill in, and I think that's how it should be. Definitely fanfic material, whether or not I'm the gal for the job remains to be seen. I won't nag you to review, because I never do unless threatened with a discontinuation, which leaves me annoyed as a reader and makes me not want to review any more. So I'll spare you the trouble. Review if you'd like, because I'm updating on my own damn time. I'LL DO WHAT I WANT, THOR!**

**Disclaimer: Blah Blah, I don't own these characters except for when I do. Good? Good.**

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_"Courage is the self-affirmation of being in spite of the fact of non-being. It is the act of the individual self in taking the anxiety of non-being upon itself by affirming itself ... in the anxiety of guilt and condemnation."_

_Paul Tillich_

**Prologue**

Humanity has long been defined by forward movement; in fact, it could be said that the race of apes living tenuously upon the planet Earth is nothing more than a large metaphorical snowball, rolling down an infinite hill of progress. Much has stood in the way of said snowball, yet by and large all this succeeds in doing is adding to both its' weight and momentum as it gets caught in the spin.

If you were to stand at the bottom of the hill, and look up, up, and up- all the way to the very top (which would of course be _impossible_, because the hill is infinite... oh... well- go away! Get out of my analogy) you would see a lone figure standing there, giggling.

In all probability, that's the Man in the Moon.

Bastard.

Before **he** came along, humanity was a generally cowardly race- though a successful one. After all, enough of its' ancestors had survived long enough to mate until they evolved from scales, to fur, to ugly pink fleshy stuff. Which is pretty impressive if you ask me- and it was all because they were _cowardly_. Cowardice is a perfectly admirable trait, from an evolutionary standpoint. It keeps your furry arse alive so you can make more furry arses. Mr. MiM, though, as we mentioned, is a giggling maniac with a proclivity for snowball-rolling, and other such dangerous pastimes. Spaceman decided that what humanity needed was a touch of _danger_- freedom from fear, replaced by curiosity, joy, and ambition. In what was probably the only move you'll get me to verbally support, he pushed the little snow-clump of cavemen that would one day become the snow-planet of steamships down the aforementioned hill of progress- he's still a bastard, though; and I'll tell you why.

Do you remember the first time the first Neanderthal scorched his hands trying to harness a flame? No? I do.  
How about that time a group of Egyptians used a riverboat made of nothing but papyrus reeds to try and cross the ocean? Did I mention the part that they had balls of steel because it was a flipping _river boat_? No? Well, that's funny, because I remember _every time_ the boat lurched like a living thing beneath the feet of frightened men.  
What about the first time a man stepped before a charging elk with nothing but a sharpened stick, simply because someone_ else_ was starving? The first time a man sacrificed his life for another? The first time someone used a club to_ beat his neighbor to death_? I remember all those things with a burning clarity.  
But I was not alive, then.

Because I am more than just Courage.

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**Part I**

_Courage is of the heart by derivation,_  
_And great it is. But fear is of the soul_

_Robert Frost, A Masque of Mercy (1947)_

My name was Avice and it was the Dark Ages. As far as things go these facts are rather unimportant, because I have, for the most part, forgotten the details. This is because the Dark Ages are a time I try to ignore. Forgetting is hard when you're gifted with supernatural memory, so ignoring is as good as you can get, and almost as effective.

If you are the discerning sort, you may have already noticed something about me;** I am a coward**.

But I am a coward who has lived for around six centuries, give or take. That says a bit for cowardice, in my mind!

Anyway, my name was Avice, it was the Dark Ages and what little I care to remember is this; I was plain, uninteresting, and rarely did a thought go through my mind.

This is because interesting and loud women were _witches_, and witches were _burned_.

I think, though, that I spent a suspicious amount of time not thinking about how _normal_ these 'witches' looked, or how very human their faces were when they lined up to burn. I spent an even longer amount of time very carefully _not_ thinking about where _exactly_ the stars were placed, or what it could be that pushed them along the sky. Sometimes I spent time in the garden drawing pictures in the dirt and meticulously_ avoiding_ the very_ idea_ that maybe there was more to life than doing chores and wondering who my parents would want me to marry when I was older.

In fact, I spent so much time carefully avoiding these things, that I was labeled a stargazer, lazy, and worst of all a _recluse_. I reached the age of twenty without a man marrying me- but I had a place- as most things went those days, my mother had died after the birth of my third sibling. The only sibling to survive. So I made myself as busily useful as possible, fearing both abandonment and loneliness- I raised him. His name was Leofwin and I loved him above all other things. This isn't saying much, given that most other things had either a drinking problem, or were beasts of burden.

Leo was adorable- his hair was always crazy and everywhere, and he had big freckles across his cheek and button nose. He was vivacious, and smart, and from the get go was cursed to be as much of a dreamer as I was. I spent a good amount of time _avoiding_ putting ideas in his head and _never_ encouraging him to prank other children. That is to say, that's the only thing we did. Unfortunately, that didn't win me any points with_ anyone_ save for him, but I'd resigned myself to that fact by then. Leo was born when I was ten, and was ten when I kicked the bucket. Sad to think, in this day and age, when a gal lives to be eighty, but kind of okay if you put it in perspective (it was the freaking DARK AGES).

It's right about here that I'd like to remind the peanut gallery that** I'm a coward**. It is also these parentheses here where you can imagine me flicking off the Man in the Moon (! ! !). _There_, now that this is out of the way, I'll explain.

I died because of one single courageous act. You may have received the impression that because I raised my baby brother that I was a saint, but I most certainly was not.

I let other kids bully him for being a runt. Not because I agreed, but because if I throttled them like I itched to, I would be throttled in turn by their parents for stepping out of line (after all, it was only by the good graces of my father that I, an unmarried and unskilled lout, had not been turned out onto the street[well, path])

I let father belittle Leo, beat him, and blame him continuously for his mother's death. When people spat in my face, I bowed my head in shame. When people called me lazy, I nodded my head and said "yes'm".

When I felt imaginitive, I liked to imagine myself as not a coward, but air; punch and kick and scream at it all you like, but you'd never hit the essential aiy-ness of the air. Except _even wind_ defends the children it loves, and I definitely don't think it eventually explodes into a single, blazing act of sheer stupidity.

But this isn't about that- this is about what came next.


	2. Oh, Scotland

**(A/N): This story is going to be a long one. Those sexy smarties among you who guess the pairing ahead of time will just have to be smug to yourselves; feel free to make wild guesses, but I'll never tell! Mwahahaha! After this chapter, we may not see Elan for a while, but once the story picks up with her, things will be going full tilt. I'll tell you ahead of time; there are things about Elan's past and death that she can't recall yet, and the enemy is going to be an odd one. Both familiar and unfamiliar. We'll all have a good time, but I may be a lazy bitch somewhere along the road.**

**Also, brief question; is the way I write too... I dunno... old-y? I feel like I'm writing a dictionary, it's so dry! I'll leave it up to you all to let me know if the writing style gets all poncy, which it might already be... Anyway, I'm sure I'll find my voice, and I love to hear back from people. Any criticism welcome- screw constructive, I like my reviews well done to burnt. Or sweet. Let's go with... burnt marshmallows! Ahem. Anyway. On with the chapter!**

**(INSERT DISCLAIMER HERE)**

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_**There is not such a word  
Spoke of in Scotland as this term of 'fear'.**_

_**-William Shakespeare**_

_**Elan didn't know it, but that conversation would be the last she ever had with her friend.**_

"So, how DID you become as you are?"

Elan looked up from her apple cider, momentarily perplexed. To be fair, it was her thirtieth apple cider that day. She just couldn't seem to stay drunk enough. After a moment of focusing, her eyes met the greenest pair of peepers that ever there was, surrounded by skin as pale as a morning glory. She'd been camping out with her old friend and fellow recluse, the Green Man, for a year now, and she still couldn't quite keep down the giggles when she gave any real thought to his color scheme (It wasn't HIS fault that Europeans didn't know that lime green was _hideous_, after all). It took a few seconds to remember she was asked a question, in any case.

"That's a loaded question, buddy ol' pal. What do you mean by 'as you are?'"

Green frowned handsomely and searched for the right words, meanwhile Elan took her time to admire the picture he made lounging on the Couch. Over the years, the Couch had begun to accumulate enough life to warrant a capital letter. It was covered in moss and patches- and also happened to be the only bit of furniture in the isolated glade that Green and Elan shared. Green, when he wanted to, ate his meals on it, and so did Elan. It was usually a messy experience involving Chinese food and agressive noodle-slaps. Green and the Couch were rarely seen separated; ever since humanity invented the car, he'd been in a century-long pout. To mark his temper tantrum, he'd shaved off his (in Elan's opinion, ridiculous) beard and given himself a 'modern' vinecut (Elan hadn't the heart to tell him that only stoners shared his particular hair/vine style. After all, it was fitting, in a way) and had begun to dress in colors that were decidedly un-Green. Unfortunately, the poor man loved pink -after all, all the prettiest flowers were pink. This was another unfortunate fashion faux-pas that Elan just hadn't the malice to let him in on. He took a breath and the entire forest sighed with him.

"I mean; how does the spirit of Courage become a refugee, scared of her own shadow?"

Elan frowned and huffed and made a show of looking annoyed, but Green didn't take back the question, just fixed her steadily under an eerie veridian gaze. The Question had hung between them for centuries, but this century Green had become less cheery and carefree, and Elan had discovered alcohol- a fact which Green had used to his advantage today. Finally, she relented and ran a hand through her tousled blonde mane (cut into a pixie 'do when the rest of it had caught on a particularly thorny branch).

"'m scared, Green. There's been something nipping at my heels and I know that t'has somethin' t'do with how I died." This got her a sympathetic nod. Every spirit had trouble with their human death. "And the shit thing is, after all these years, I can't remember how I died. The only thing I can't remember over the course of six centuries and it had to be that!" Elan shifted off of her mossy rock and took another gulp of Green's cider. It tasted like fresh apples, which drew Elan to the conclusion that Green had missed entirely the point of grog. She plopped down on the Couch (which she was pretty sure grunted) and stuck her head on Green's lap. Absentmindedly his hand went to her hair. They'd shared intimacies, over the centuries, of course- after all spirits such as they were relegated to pretty much only other spirits when it came to touch and companionship, and it was rare to find another spirit, let alone find one you liked. That was all over, though, Green was an emotional wreck and in no shape for such things, and Elan was sick of mindless physicality. The bond they shared now was that of old (ancient, in fact) friends and nothing more. His hands in her hair soothed her eyes closed.

"You say you don't remember how you died. May I ask how old you were?"

"Twenny" Elan slurred, her voice muffled by Green's hideous plaid shirt, which she'd stuffed her nose into. He stank of patchouli and dry leaves.

He frowned again; this outruled Tooth's help, though he'd only ever heard of her. His dalliance was with _faeries,_ not fairies.

"Well, why did you come to Scotland?"

Elan snorted and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you kidding? I'm running from an unknown entity, possibly fear itself! Where better to go when outrunning fear, than Scotland? I don't think anyone has let them in on the idea that there's anything to BE scared of." She giggled. "I mean, these guys are so unaware that there's anything to fear, that threatening things take one look and decide to quietly target another country." This got a flicker of a smile out of Green; Elan frowned and the conversation died an awkward death while Elan worried silently about Green. He'd been like this all year; hesitant to laugh, to smile. Gathering bags beneath his eyes when he didn't even need to sleep (forests don't sleep, not really). He was ill and he wouldn't say what ailed him. Even more disturbing was his occasional slip up. She'd catch him by surprise or poke at something sensitive and he'd snap like a rabid dog, verdant eyes flashing a sickly yellow for naught but a second. Save for the eyes, Elan recognized this behavior... intimately. He was afraid of something; and he wasn't about to admit it to anyone, even himself. She looked up; Green was watching her warily out of the corner of his eye. She smiled, and told him she was going for a walk, he nodded and leaned over to kiss her cheek in a surprising display of kindness. Briefly, her nose was tickled by the delicate vines that formed his hair, and then he was gone; off to tend his woods, no doubt.

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Green was a simple man- he'd been born of leaves and mischief and that's what he would always be- even through the tougher centuries. The spring in his step was the kind that came after winter and all he could be or become was hope, and the smell of rain in the leaves. Many a pretty faerie or spirit would come his way and tarry with him a while (though Elan was the only one who remained a friend once their fickle engagement was through)- after all, he was Green! All handsome smiles and growing things. His life had been a good one, even through the advent of cars and paper and human industry... until now. This year had been different. There was a blackness that ate at his core like a beetle munching on the roots of a great oak, making the ancient tree tremble. It was so close to consuming him, that he had barely days, perhaps hours, before whatever its' sinister goal was came to fruition. He had spent a long time avoiding it, but the moment loomed before him.

Green had no time for goodbyes, and he had no time to tell his no doubt curious friend what was going on.

With a groaning of old wood, and a great sight of wind, the Green Man vanished from the woods, and somewhere in Scotland, on a ratty old Couch, the spirit of Courage had another nightmare.


	3. Interlude

**(A/N) There will be a moral to this story, in the end. I'm a bitch like that. Thanks for the reviews you guys! I definitely am beginning to understand why everyone goes around asking for them like a bunch of crack addicts. What a rush! And I also think I understand why people begin freaking out when they DON'T get reviews. While browsing fanfics, for the first time, I found myself looking at the review count and comparing it to my own story's review count. Then I got jealous. Then I got mad. Then I felt dejected and decided I was a terrible writer. Upon careful self-inspection, though, I realized what had happened and smacked my brain around until it stopped being a bitch. Douchebag brain. Anyway, the moral of this author's note is this; fellow writers! Don't forget that your stories are for you, and that reviews aren't for encouragement, but self-improvement! Must... resist... comparing... dick size... to others...!**

**Listening to: "Sail" by AWOLNATION**

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E. Aster Bunnymund worked diligently. Easter Sunday had come and passed two weeks ago, but that did not stop the pooka from going about his job. Normally he _did _take a break- he would wander the parks and the smaller towns, enjoying his favorite part of Spring; how humans (especially the children) interacted with it. He was, after all, born from the belief of those first humans who stepped from their caves only to find with wonder that winter was not the world's end, but nature's sleep. This Spring, though, found him in the Warren.

The Decay had already taken a hold, Bunnymund could see the signs. He didn't know what it was, but he'd seen it before it ever came to the Warren. Spring had sprung a very different way this year, much to his horror. He had tried to tell the other Guardians, but they couldn't see the signs as only he could. It was a slight darkening of an oak tree's leaves, imperceptible to those who hadn't spent centuries gazing lovingly at nature. It was the twisting of trees that normally grew straight. White flowers came up pink, pink flowers came up blood red- and most disturbing of all was the silence. No creature can hear Silence quite so well as a rabbit, and behind the trill of birds and the bark of foxes, Silence lurked.

Something was wrong, and now it was in the Warren. So Bunnymund worked and worked. He painted eggs and cleared the rabbit holes. Stripes, spots, glitter, and flowers- and eggs, eggs, eggs. That was what nature was, in the Spring- a hatching egg. But what had hatched, this year? It was this exact question that he now avoided by decorating and tidying as though Easter was around the corner, not two weeks in the past. At the back of his mind he knew that somehow, the Decay had wormed its' way into his heart as well, but he wasn't aware of how deep the rot had pierced:

The Warren around him had long since browned; the moss hung limply from the ceiling, and barely-living flowers hung limply from their stalks. The few places where color still lived where the spots where butterflies had fallen, stone dead. The eggs that Bunnymund had been meticulously painting lay on their sides, inert, with their legs dangling limply.

Meanwhile, hunched over a long since dried pond sat Bunnymund; working, but in his mind, running.

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**(A/N) Next one coming soon! This is just... I dunno. You know in comic books where they show you a yellow box that says "Meanwhile..."? This is my meanwhile! Except it's a "Meanwhile and a little bit later..."**


	4. What Fools These Mortals Be!

**(A/N) Here's your rapid update! :D I hope, again, that the writing isn't too dry. Sometimes I get caught up in suppositions and ponderings. We'll get to the Guardians soon, but I thought I'd take a tour of the less prominent myths and legends, first. I wanted to tie in other spirits and things. The realm of human belief is as bountiful as the faith that fuels it, and it would be a crying shame to ignore the opportunities! I'll be everywhere! But I do have a plan *taps nose and winks* so don'chyoo worry, kids! If things seem juvenile or childish, it's because I'm only twenty, and by all regards, still a child! Enjoy! (Also, the characters of Green and Robin are both based off of my current manbaby {I think you'd call it boyfriend}. He's a comedian, which means he fancies himself a funny guy, and I guess I fancy him, too! Haha) **

**Watching: How To Train Your Dragon**

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_**"**'I am that merry wanderer of the night'? I am that giggling-dangerous-totally-bloody-psychotic-menace-to-life-and-limb, more like it."_  
_"Shh, Peaseblossom. The puck might hear you._

_~Members of the audience, in Sandman #19: "A Midsummer Night's Dream"_

The first week that Green was missing, Elan didn't panic. She spent her days on the couch, reading a book, or in the woods playing hide and seek with some of the lesser Sidhe. The small spritelings- barely sentient things themselves- were happy for the distraction. It seemed like their usual giggling manner had been tainted sour by something, and as the week went by the usually cheery pixies became mean and full of mischief. Elan stopped playing with them.

By the second week, Elan knew there was something terribly wrong. She knew because the Feeling was back. A niggling feeling that wriggled and squirmed in her heart. Strange imagery of her childhood would flash before her eyes whenever she blinked. A yelling man, an elder tree, and bright flames. Things she couldn't remember ever having seen. Her feet became restless, and she'd find herself packing and unpacking her little bag of trinkets. Every time it was full, she had to remind herself to wait until Green returned. After all; it was very much like him to come and go as he pleased, but another thing altogether to find his cowardly friend gone, with her books and toys all missing, upon his return. She brushed her hair for the first time in a year(which isn't saying much, since it had been hacked short into a messy rendition of the pixie cut. Brushing didn't help.), and went for a swim (but quickly got out because she hated the feeling of deep water mawing beneath her toes). The feeling remained- and grew!

This was bad. This was very, very bad. This was worse than that time when Green fed her Absinthe and took her to America! This was worse than... than... her date with the Leprechaun! And worse still! Finally, at the end of the second week, she went for a long walk- intending to return, of course! (but her pack was full, and swinging on her shoulders). The instant she left the glade, though, her insides shook, a twig snapped and off she went without a thought.

Elan ran and ran. She ran as only a spirit could run; never stopping for breath, never stopping to rest her sore feet. She never looked back, because she _knew_ something was behind her. Sometimes the dread in her soul swelled so huge that she would have sworn she heard panting, or snarling, or the heavy tread of giants on her heels. The thunder was only her heart, though, as she fled to the Scottish Highlands.

Though panicked, Elan's flight was not without direction. In the Highlands dwelled another of Green's friends. He frightened her, as most things did, but he also might frighten the darkness at her heels away.

A girl could hope.

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**Later...**

"Ah ha! What brings the Queen of Cowards, the Cowardly Lion herself to my doorstep! Did Green give you a spanking for being so shivery-shakey? Or were you frightened by a few Scottish slithery-snakies! Maybe it was both- I hear good-ol Green is quite slippery-sexy. Too much for a little waif like you, sure-as-shells!"

Elan rolled her eyes. She'd arrived on the hill that Robin called home a few hours before midday, and had been waiting there ever since. Robin preferred to conduct his business during the twilight hours, and wouldn't appear a moment sooner (though Elan had heard the bastard's giggles on the wind).

If the Faeries(or spirits, as some New-Worlders called them) had a 'Most Eligible Bachelors' list, Robin Goodfellow and Green would certainly share a tie for number two. They were a pair of cads, the both of them! While Green was bearable, though, Robin was a total prick. He took ceaseless amusement from Elan's flighty nature, and loved to poke fun at her. Elan knew it was all in good fun for him, and that he meant nothing (too) unkind by it, but it rankled. Puck was also infinitely more dangerous than Green. Many women liked this, along with his wild red hair (which in Elan's opinion looked like it was victimized by a weed whacker), 'twinkling blue eyes', and thick Scottish accent. The last bit gave some chicks wet panties, but all it did was give Elan an upset stomach. Robin Goodfellow, or Puck, as he was better known, was no threat to fellow sprites unless crossed, but with humans he'd just as quickly kill them than do them a favor, and rarely were his reasons for either sane, or constant. Elan happened to like humans, having been one herself, but the Spirit of Mischief seemed to have completely relinquished his hold on anything human a long time ago. He was completely alien.

Thankfully, the time on the hill gave Elan time to muster some courage to talk to Puck, so it was with barely noticeable hesitation that she snapped back.

"Don't be a prick, Puck, or I'll try to inspire a _new_ playwright into portraying you as a hairy _gnome_ named LeRoy Jenkins!" Inwardly, she giggled at the reference that she was sure Robin would never get, but her giggles quickly died when she was confronted with a face-full of angry Puck.

"**NEVEREVERNEVER MENTION THE PLAYWRIGHT! Curse his bones and gonads**!"

Puck hissed, spat, and stomped his bare feet about the top of the hill and Elan couldn't help but snort at him, though he was a frightful image. Her fear was mostly leaving with the beginnings of a revelation; Robin Goodfellow was just an insane, supernatural, and possibly homicidal teenager. He didn't like _girls_ making fun of him. At the sound of another chuckle, he whirled on her in an instant. "AND YOU! CEASE YOUR INFERNAL _MOUTHGIGGLING_!" But Elan couldn't stop- the tension of the last week had caught up to her and all she could respond with was "Sure thing, '_knavish sprite_'!" before gasping her way into a true fit of laughter. She'd skipped hysteria and went straight to 'suicidal glee', do not skip 'Go', do not collect 200 dollars. Even her own trepidation at what the furious spirit before her would do couldn't stop her cackling.

He glared fiercely, looking ready to throttle her until unexpectedly, a boyish grin swamped his face and Puck clapped his hands like a kid at Christmas. He went from ready to kill to ready to play with such speed that his capriciousness probably amazed even the other Fey Folk.

"You _smiled_? _You laugh_! She laughs, I say, and smiles!"

He crowed in his strange and hurried way of speaking, bouncing around excitedly on his toes. Suddenly Elan found herself grabbed by both hands and whirling about. "You chitter-chatter and laugh and it _does_ please Puck so! The little waif, always a-trembling finds humor in the frightful Robin's rage-rants! She smiles, _she smiles_!" Elan found herself sharing shocked laughter with the mad faerie until Puck's wild twirling made her dizzy, and even then she wheezed and grinned, made drunk by the mischievous boy's special brand of magic. Eventually, with a gentleness she did not expect, Puck sat her down and danced by himself for a bit, stomping his feet and shouting gleeful, wordless things at the moon. Finally, he settled down (though the not-quite sane mania did not leave his face) and perched before Elan, who in the meantime had partially sobered up from her brief bout of panicked laughter. He was the first to speak, and when he did, his voice was as light as spider silk.

"It is a boon to see the maiden smile, and it doth please even more to hear her threaten! For so long, I thought you to be as small and boring as a pebble- how good to be elucidated by your fire! Old Puck, though, thinks that something is amiss! Mischief that art not mine is afoot, and such a stinky foot it is!"

Robin smiled warmly (displaying a lengthened incisor- a reminder)when this elicited a giggle from Elan, then continued. "Do tell what, beyond the norm, has frightened thee so- and why dear-brother Green is not accompanying thee as a gentle-gent should! Ah! But while this dale be a beauteous place, it is not so comfortable, so I bid thee; accept this old sprite's hospitality and enter my Hall!"

The ginger rake that had rapidly become a friend (of sorts) swept one gangly arm to the side, and there was the Hall- as though it had always been there and Elan had simply elected not to see it.

The Hall was another object that warranted a capital all to itself- Elan was beginning to suspect all spirits had such an Object(save for her, of course)! It was made of standing stones, more ancient and pitted than even those at Stonehenge (where she had attended a raucous gathering last century- which ended in a lot more puking than usual when Pestilence decided to get into the punch), and they were coated with a thick verdant moss(you couldn't even tell they were once stone). The standing stones were arranged in huge concentric circles, so many that Elan couldn't see the inside, though she was sure there were no walls or ceiling to speak of, just the stones. Amazed, she followed Puck as he wove and danced between the stones (giggling like a maniac all the way). His hair grew more red, the moss more green, and the air more sharp as they approached the center- and then they were in the Hall. It was about the size of a church, and the sky that had previously been grey was as clear as it is on the North Pole- the proportions of the interior were much more than the exterior, which only covered the top of a hill. This was a cliche Elan had noticed the Fey using often, and suspiciously more often since the advent of Doctor Who.

"Welcome, lass! To the Hall on the Hill!" Chortled Puck(oh, he _knew_ how cool it was), and snapped his fingers. At once, Elan found herself swamped in the attentions of three minor pucks (a race of pixies so mischievous that Puck had granted them his name- _vain git_). They must have been triplets, because all three of them had button noses, freckles, Pucks own wild hair, and eyes for only mischief. They poked and prodded Elan with sharp fingers, until she found herself shepherded rather rudely to a stone tea-table. She sat in a huff on the proffered log, yet couldn't help cracking a smile when one of the childish faeries blew a raspberry at his bigger counterpart while flitting back into some unseen place among the surrounding stones. Robin Goodfellow just chuckled and alit in front of Elan on the table, cross-legged. She found herself fixed with an intent mossy stare. When her own eyes made eye contact with his own (they were the same color, she noted), he reached over and tugged a lock of messy hair- _hard_. When faced with an indignant glare, he smiled as quickly and as sharp as a knife in the dark.

"Speak lass; though now we be friends, there is mischief to be had on this eve, and it is my duty to ensure it be done!"

Trying to restrain her temper, and recalling why she was there, the flabbergasted spirit collected herself. She could come and wonder at the Hall later (and nag some sense in to Robin, if he'd let her) now that she had the mischief spirit's favor- but right now, Green was in danger and so was she.

Elan took a breath and started at the beginning.


	5. Second Interlude (Ch 5)

**(A/N) Ooookay- I lied about the never telling thing. I'll tell you one thing about the pairing- this is NOT a Jack/OC. There, I said it- you can leave if you hate me. **

**solaheartnet: You're sweet- and you are absolutely correct about the lack of Bunnylove. Not even tumblr is sailing enough ships! I'll write a one-shot for you when I get any ideas for a quickie. If you have any plotbunnies(heehee) for a one-shot send them my way! **

**something-I'll-remember: Haha, I'm posting as I write/come up with interesting things to say. I'll probably have less to say when school starts/I get a job, but then again- more time to think about the story! We shall see. I'm really new to this whole thing, so I'm glad you like what I'm writing. **

**Solstice White: Glad you like Elan! Fun fact for you- her name is also the word** **élan- a synonym for courage. So you don't think she's Mary Sue-ish? Also, great, you're hired! *hands you badge* you are now Sheriff of my story's Mary-Sue Patrol! **

**Raistishot: Thank you, and please tell me your name is talking about Raistlin. **

* * *

_To use fear as the friend it is, we must retrain and reprogram ourselves...We must persistently and convincingly tell ourselves that the fear is here-with its gift of energy and heightened awareness-so we can do our best and learn the most in the new situation._

_~Peter Mcwilliams_

Human belief is a powerful thing. In all the worlds, in every galaxy, there was never a race with more belief than humanity. Say what you will of their intelligence, their strength, or their common sense- it's true, save for a few special cases, humans are rather lacking in these areas- but never doubt that human belief can move mountains, shake the earth, and redeem the damned.

Of course, it wasn't always so; there was once a time in the Universe called the **Golden Age**! Civilization flourished, and belief was so powerful that all a race had to do was believe it could touch the stars, and technology be damned! There they were, among their brother civilizations, chatting and having tea (with silly looking crumpets). Perhaps belief is a magic, or perhaps it is the biproduct of some advanced science involving the interactions between Sentience and Space(which delves into the rather interesting subject of quantum physics, a science that from most angles appears to rely heavily on belief). Whichever the case- once upon a time, there was belief everywhere. How and why this is no longer the case may never be known (I've not the fortitude to live through it once more, in the telling). Belief in the universe flows now at but a trickle.

There is just one place, one bastion, where belief flourishes, and it is due to the efforts of two rather extraordinary individuals. Both strove and struggled against insurmountable odds to fight the extinguishing of all the wonder in the Universe... the final light.

The first was yours truly-the Man in the Moon, and the second we shan't meet until much, much later in the story. I digress- why it exists on Planet Earth is not important- what is important is the result. You see, many a man will tell you that belief is a silly thing, and contradicts all reason. But how can new advances in science, or reason be discovered, if not one clever man believes that there is more to life than what he knows? How can the ideas of morality, kindness, or hope ever come to be if someone does not believe that there is a place for them, first? That's what belief does; it worms holes in reality, so that where once there was nothing there is now a place to build something better, newer, more amazing!

Once, someone somewhere believed that there would be an end to the snow, and that life would return to the world- and so it was! Who is to say which came first? Certainly not I! I think that if even we had not struggled to save humanity's beliefs, that perhaps they would have persisted; a small little light shining forever against the darkness- a darkness that not even I can face alone. I have seen men and women achieve things- impossible things- simply because nobody remembered to tell them that they couldn't. I have seen powerful men, laid low by a belief that they were weak. Such is the power of human belief.

But there is one thing that makes this possible- one thing that leads this tiny race of warriors charging head first into a battle against a darkness of the soul that they do not even understand- one trait in humanity that has always been their final downfall and their greatest boon- it has poked and prodded them into self-sacrifice, into murder, it has chased them into battle and has dogged their heels into darkness. Perhaps it's because they have the most to protect, or perhaps it's because of their extraordinarily short lives-

Humanity, and all its' belief, has one thing even greater than faith; and it is Fear.


	6. An Odd Morning

**(A/N) Hope this chapter is up to par! It's a bit longer than usual, because I took a little more time to write it. Perhaps I can get a good groove going and start posting only one a day- but a good long one per day! Anywho, I'm exhausted, my ferret kept me up all night, sweet little bastard that he is. I'd love to hear what you all think of the story, and if the progression makes sense (my main worry). I finally gave a description of how Elan looks- sorry about the wait, eheh, I forget about details like that sometimes.**

** Avatar Aang: Hmmm... Well, between most chapters I try giving a glimpse of what is going on elsewhere. I don't want to say it's all part of the plan, and that it will make sense eventually, because I would like to at least make it fit in with the story as you read it, though you may not be 100% what is going on. I'm not sure how much better I can write the Bunnymund interlude for you, though. I guess what I CAN tell you is that the same thing affecting Bunnymund is what is affecting the Green Man, and that the results are much more extreme with Bunnymund because he is closer to the cause of the problem, and therefore much more affected by it. I hesitate to outline for you what this problem is, though, because that really _would_ be telling. : ) Lemme know if that clears anything up! **

** Raistishot: BECAUSE RAISTLIN _IS_ HOT! :D I cannot describe all the feels I has right now that someone shares my weirdass affliction.**

** Solaheartnet: I like it! I may tweak it, and hell, I may love the one shot so much that I write their backstory and I fall into a fiction trap XD. I'll get on it as soon as I've finished a few more chapters of this one :)**

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_**"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear—not absence of fear. Except a creature be part coward it is not a compliment to say it is brave; it is merely a loose application of the word. Consider the flea! — incomparably the bravest of all the creatures of God, if ignorance of fear were courage."**_

_**-Mark Twain**_

Elan's dreams were strange, and distorted. They hovered in the slipspace between nightmare and dream- they were bright and shining, but at the same time the light illuminated twisted shapes within her mind. A slithering voice whispered in her ear, overlaying memories of her childhood that her sleeping mind could not stop. It hissed and spat and demanded that she hide in the dark, in safety- yet for all that the sound was... comforting. It had always been there, she had just forgotten. Forgotten something important- but the instant she strained to look harder into the crevasses of her mind, she awoke with a start. Her eyes met yellow ones and left her gasping (too startled to scream).

_**"Mrrow?"**_

Said the cat, before leaping off of her chest. It was not a small cat- closer to the size of a small dog than anything else. It gazed at her for a moment, as if to be sure she was awake, and then turned for the exit. The exit to Elan's room (of sorts) could hardly be called a door, as it was simply another break in the stones of Puck's Hall- marked by the presence of bluebells on either side. They tinkled as the cat passed through, reminding a suddenly wary Elan that bluebells were said to ring only in the presence of evil spirits. At this thought, she scrambled to put on her shoes- small leather wrappings that she was sure she hadn't changed out of since the Industrial Revolution.

After Elan had finished her story last night, Puck had leaped into action- literally. He sailed over her head and began gibbering at pucks and pixies that seemed to come from every direction at once. His way of speaking, paired with his thick Scottish accent made it impossible to tell what he was saying- he very well may have been simply speaking in some strange other language. It was times like these that Elan found herself feeling left out; she was not the same as the strange 'faerie' spirits of the West. They were directly believed in, for what they were, and had been given names by none other than the humans themselves. Elan had awoken, alone and confused- she'd even had to name herself, though it stood to reason that she could have retained her human name. The idea didn't sit right with her, though. She and her human past were two separate entities; they didn't even _look_ the same.

Avice had been a slightly pudgy girl with a sullen look about her grey eyes. Her face had been square and her hair had been a mousy grey-blonde. Elan, on the other hand, had yellow-green eyes, and golden-orange hair that, upon her recent haircut, had grown to be as wild as Robin's. Whereas Avice had looked like a slightly beaten, slightly overfed dog- Elan had all the sharp angles and skinny limbs of a lizard. Her eyes that had once been half-lidded and dull were wide, and constantly alert- darting every which way.

The person who had taken in the flighty new sprite had been Green, though he was absolutely perplexed as to how she came to be. Most of the Fey Folk had manifested from the convalescence of human belief in places of mystery- places where humans believed anything could happen (and so it did). The Green Man himself had been born at the heart of a forest whose roots had not seen light for centuries- but Avice had been born in the center of a village, in the dirt and grime of human life. Green had done what he could to instruct her in the way of the faerie, and had kept her company when her wanderings amongst humans that could neither see, hear, nor touch her left her lonely and weak- which is why she had to enlist Puck in helping save Green- she owed him her _sanity_.

Once Puck had finished giving orders, he had delicately taken her by the wrist with two spindly fingers, as though handling a fork, or a bird.

"You, my dear, must rest- for what you have told old Robin is a strange puzzle-box for this Puck to unlock! I will twist and turn and titillate its' facets until it divulges its' secrets- and even now my Court flies far and wide looking for word of our goodly-Green." Puck smiled at her, and for the first time, it wasn't a smile whose edges were brittle and sharp. It was a good smile, and a dazed Elan could do nothing else but smile back.

"You are a _sweet_ little coward, and bravery may become you yet- for though ye fled from an unseen foe, forethought blessed ye to appear on my dale, and lo! At the end of your journey you traded words with _Robin Goodfellow _himself! More courage will be required of thee- and while yesterday the thought would perish before it grew, Puck now thinks there may be a chance for the spirit of Courage, yet! Your soul be drenched in fear, lass- but fear does not a coward make. Remember that on your travels."

"Travels!? Hold on, Puck, am I _going_ somewhere!? What about the thing that chased me? Can't I stay here?" Robin smiled, but it was less warm this time.

"All will be tell-told in the morn, girl. For now, you will follow _cat-shee_ to your own little hollow! Do watch out for stones in the moss of your bed- the pucks be more petty than I by leaps and bounds."

The same black cat that woke her up had been the one to lead her to her 'room', a clearing whose carpet seemed to be made solely of light blue forget-me-nots, and the bed itself seemed to be a fluffy moss. True to form, the pucks had left three stones and a stick in the bedding, which Elan had to fish out before sleeping. The things that plagued her into sleep that night harried her just as badly in the morning, as she followed the winding trail of bluebells that led her to the main Hall. Why was Puck sending her away? Where could she hide now? Would she just wander the earth, as she usually did, observing humanity from afar while Robin found Green? _Would_ Robin find Green? The questions circled her brain and her brain circled back like a snake that bit its own tail- until she stepped into the great Hall. Again, she marvelled at the magic of it all. While it had clearly been morning in her area of the Hall, the jeweled image of the night sky continued to serve as the main room's ceiling. The wonders never seemed to cease, because right as she was pulling her gaze from the sky, _she was swept up into a big hug_. Elan rarely got hugs.

"Ah! If it isn't my cowardly little friend! Time for breakfast, as you have a _long_ way to go today!" Puck lifted Elan the same way you'd lift a disgruntled cat- with his hands beneath her shoulders and her arms forced out to the side. She even had a perfect rendition of the ever-famous feline disapproval- tinged only by a sudden bout of nervousness.

"Why are you kicking me out?" She blurted, before she could think. Robin's warm smile turned into a pitying one and he frowned before walking a few steps and setting her like a doll at the tea table. Without answering, he disappeared from view for a short moment, only to return with a small leather pouch and a plate. On the plate was stacked a few odd-looking fruit; each one was the exact same shape, with the exact same translucent-white skin, but the meat that shone through was a different color for each. A plate full of bread and honey came next, and then what appeared to be just a saucer of cream. Elan didn't touch anything, even after Robin sat down and gestured at her to eat.

"I don't want to go! Please don't make me!" Her voice was whiny and pleading.

"_Hush_, lass- I'm not just kicking you out willy-nilly! Your wily Goodfellow has a plan." He tapped his nose conspiratorially and leaned in to swipe one of the strange looking fruits from her plate. He took a bite before he continued.

"Green is missing, which in and of itself is no great cause for panic- but ye have described a worrying thing in his behaviour of the past year. The yellow eyes... and his odd behaviour... Such a thing has been arising amongst the fey folk for about... two years, now, it sounds like Green hath been scared- and unnaturally so! That which be unnatural has no place among us sprites of nature." Elan slapped Puck's fingers when he leaned in for a reddish fruit, and quickly stuffed it into her own mouth. Startlingly, it tasted of strawberries- Puck grinned and leaned back, giving Elan the sudden impression that his real objective had been reached. She glared suspiciously, but couldn't stop herself from curiously grabbing for another fruit. The sprite continued.

"I am not so well-versed in feeling fear, as I be one who spreads it. I have no knowledge of such things, and I hold no clout with the more... human spirits." He held Elan's gaze. "And it is the more human spirits, such as yourself, that may be able to lend some insight into this matter- or may be to blame. The _most_ human of the spirits, for a fact!" He grabbed some meat off of his own plate, and handed it down to a large Scottie dog that sat by his feet. Daintily, she grabbed it from his fingers and disappeared it into her beard. The rake continued. "Ye yerself are one such human spirit, being borne of a human emotion, while ones such as I be borne of the mystery that nature exudes to a man in the woods. The beliefs and the wonderings at the fickleness of the weather, as it were. Fear is the most human thing this Puck can think of, and a coward who did nonetheless threaten the wildest of the spirits ('_Vain git_' thought Elan) is perhaps the most qualified to_ understand_ this fear. So tell me- how well do you know fright, Elan?" Elan swallowed at the green intensity of Robin's gaze, and decided not to lie.

"Intimately."

At this Puck grinned and clapped his hands.

"Excellent! Then you will go and save Green."

"What? Wait, no! I don't know fear at all. Wrong girl for the job, I haven't a clue about it!" Puck laughed, stood, and grabbed the now-sweating spirit by the wrist, before plopping the small bag he'd brought in with the food into her immobilized hand. He closed his spindly fingers over her own, as though sealing a deal.

"Nonsense! You will take this bag, and the _cat-shee_, and you will go tell the Guardians your story." The black cat (which the red-haired mischief maker had been calling '_cat-shee_', whatever that meant) who had been licking at Elan's untouched cream meowed in approval. Elan was about to protest more but Puck held up a finger, as though he'd just remembered something. After fishing around in his pockets some more, he whipped out a small stem of bluebells, which jangled discordantly as he pinned them to poor Elan's chest.

"Don't mind the ringing, this_ cat-shee_ and I be harmless to ye, lass. None-the-less, those bells serve as a warning- any spirit who wishes mischief of any order upon thee will get a good jangling. It's up to you to decide whether or not said sprite wishes harm upon ye, though." He patted her head.

"I don't want to go, Puck! And Why do I have to bring your 'catshey', or whatever?"

"'Catshey'? Mine?" Ignoring the first part, Puck howled with laughter and put a palm over his eyes, pointing at the rather annoyed looking feline. Elan stood up and took a step back- it was a _big _cat. "Oh, how I wish we'd been friends _sooner,_ lass! To answer your question, the _cat-shee_ go wherever they wish to, and are certainly not owned by anything so weak as you or I. That one right there has been alive for centuries, and has more magic in its' tail than a unicorn's horn! He wishes to go with you, and I would like to see you stop him." He began to push Elan gently towards a group of stones, marked by blood-red poppies. "The bag is full of tricks to ward off the shellycoat, who I suspect be behind this! Use the salt as a wall, and jump across running water if thou be chased, and all will be well again! The _cat-shee_ will tell you the rest. I suggest visiting the Sandman, he be the least intimidating to a little lass such as yourself- happy travels, I look forward to seeing you when it is all through!"

With one final shove, Elan found herself falling into a large snowbank, face first. She lifted her head and spluttered angrily, turning to give the rotten bastard a scolding. All she saw, though, was a single poppy, glowing eerily against the snow.

"Mrrow?" Elan looked to her left, and there stood the '_cat-shee_', watching her patiently. Elan rose an eyebrow and stood to take in her surroundings. She was in the middle of what appeared to be a birch forest, coated in melting snowbanks- so she must have been in a northern area- perhaps Canada? It seemed logical, given that most of the Guardians tended to hang around the Americas more than anywhere else. Elan shivered- she had always _hated_ the Americas. They were a lonely place for spirits, because the only _truly_ believed in spirit was that of the land- all the other (more human-shaped) ones were the product of only around 300 years of human belief. In the Old World, you only had to enter a forest to find some pixies to chill with, but here, you could wander for years and never be seen, heard, or touched. Elan was glad she hadn't been 'born' in the Americas. _It would have been horribly lonely_. And **creepy**-to someone attuned to spiritual things, it was like standing on the back of a continent-sized whale. A _sentient_ whale that knew you were there.

With that thought, something familiar twisted in Elan's gut, and she began to sweat. She stood rigidly still, listening closely for any threats. She stood like that for a good long while- until some snow fell from one of the trees and made a big thump.

The cat, which now stood in an empty clearing, blinked and for a moment marvelled at how quickly the two-legged kitten could flee, before setting off in a stately pace, calmly following the footprints in the snow.

* * *

**Bluebell- If this flower rings in your garden, an evil faerie is near. One of the most potent of all the faerie flowers.**

**Salt: One of the purest representations of Earth in most European folklores- can be used to protect against evil spirits.**

**Shellycoat: Scottish word for the boogeyman.**

**Cat Sidhe (Pronounced Cat-shee): A powerful cat spirit of the Scottish Highlands- speculation abounds as to whether or not they are the spirits of witches who can turn into cats, or are simply powerful animal manifestations in their own right. They seem to be neutrally aligned. Some rumors say that the King of Cats is one such fairy.**


	7. The Cat

**(A/N) Okay, so I know I didn't do an interlude, here, but I was feeling antsy. I want to get to the meat of things and I feel like I'm going at a snail's pace. I've been reading all these other fanfictions and BAM! There are your characters on a shiny, well-written silver platter- in the first chapter, no less! I feel a little rushed to do the same... Anywho, you can sort of consider this to be an interlude chapter, of sorts, seeing as there is very little action, and more just a whole bunch of interaction. I guess posting during the week isn't so great for getting readers, eh?**

**Solaheartnet: Yes, we're going to see the Guardians really soon! In fact, I was thinking of making the next filler chapter be a brief but funny interaction between Jack and The Cat while The Cat was catching up to Elan.**

* * *

_"In ancient times cats were worshiped as gods;_

_they have not forgotten this."_

_~~Terry Pratchett_

No amount of running could stop what came next.

_Yelling, and screams- cries for justice through blood._

_Avice couldn't feel anything- there was fear, yes, but this time she wouldn't move- perhaps her death would prove a point she could never prove in life. _

"_**Come, listen! Hide where it is safe, flee run, run, RUN!" **_

_The desperate voice of a friend chanted in the immobile woman's ear. A soft smile tinted her resolute features, and she turned her head, ready to reply, but-_

Elan frowned and picked up her pace, leaping and weaving like the wind between the trees. She'd never had any friends as a child- so who had said that? Why were her memories changing? She could feel more fear, more recollections, on her heels but she could not outrun them this time. Like a sea of black her altered(_corrected_?) memories washed over her.

_"Gel, y'will abolish these silly notions from that fool boy's mind. 'Tis all well and good for a childe to believe in the Kindly Ones, but Leo is a manne, and ye will teach him thusly. If ye cannot get him to behave without the threat of a boggart, perhaps I should seek a woman better suited for the job!"_

_Leo's face- defeated. Magic leaving his eyes._

_Peddlers on the street who believed nothing- everybody's face blackened with dirt and even the water was unsafe. Everything was unsafe- neighbors closed their shutters, and women cowered in the doors._

_**"Yes- but that is why I am here- we'll play hide-and-seek with the danger, and danger will never win."** Laughed a friend- an eight-year old Avice grinned and squealed with glee, leaping into the shadow of a snow-covered tree._

_"Found you!"_

_Sometimes courage was in words- it was true that the being now known as Elan had never done a courageous deed. But sometimes words could go farther, and mean more._

_"You have to stop telling the boy your fairy stories. The wives all whisper- they suspect you dance with the devil."_

_"No."_

_"Listen, Leo." The boy looked at her with dead eyes."They're going to kill me." There was a flicker. "I love you, and I'll always be around- but you have to-"_

**"Mrrow?"**

Elan stopped in shock, her mouth dropping open. Before her stood an identical replica of the cat-thing that Puck had shoved off on her- it even had the shock of white on its' chest. Shaking the memories off, she glared and stomped by the large feline, muttering.

"Why are you following me, Cat?"

"Because you're funny, Kitten." Rumbled the Cat.

…

…

...

"AIIIIEEEEE! DEMON CAT! I _KNEW_ IT!"

Before she could flee, Elan fell on her face- finding, as many a pet human (there ARE no pet cats) had before her, a lithe body weaving neatly between her ankles. The startled spirit sat up and butt-scooted until her back hit a tree, never taking her eyes off of the monster-mammal. It made a noise that she supposed could be a cat-chuckle, but her frightened mind made it out to be a growl.

"Oh _please_, mice taste _much _better than a Kitten like you would! Spirit meat is all... stringy and far too full of... _feels._"

"YOU _ATE_ A _SPIRIT_!" Elan waved a finger in the Cat's face, which was swatted at playfully by a briefly distracted and suddenly very normal-looking feline. The illusion was ruined by its' (his?) low voice, punctuated by an exasperated sigh.

"Yes- but would it make you feel better if I told you it was a chunk of_ Puck_?" Elan couldn't help but smirk, and lowered her finger. Supernatural big-cat thing, check! Like every other adorably poncy-cat? _Also_ check.

"Strangely... _yes._" Came Elan's hesitant, but amused, response.

The Cat's reply was immediate and dripped sarcasm.

"_I'm so glad_, now that our introductions are out of the way, let us be off to human civilization, which you happen to have spent the past four hours missing in a most _admirably_ unlucky way."

The Cat got up and began to flounce (as cats will do) in a vaguely tree-ish direction (which is unhelpful because every way was a tree-ish direction). Elan scrambled to follow.

"Wait! Why are we going to human civilization? And why didn't you _say_ something earlier?"

"Because that is where we'll find the Sandman, and for the _same_ reason every other cat on the planet doesn't speak."

"What?" She asked stupidly- to which she got a both condescending and pitying stare.

"Oh, _don't _tell me you thought humans were the only animals that could speak, Kitten! That's _terribly silly_." Momentarily thrown for a huge, planet-shifting loop (She used to talk at cats. A lot. One of those animals that can interact with lonely spirits, after all! The 'are you stupid' looks now made a bit more sense, though.), it took awhile for Elan to respond.

"That's... er, that's not what I meant. I mean why do _I _have to be the one to do this? If you can talk surely you can go see Mister Sandman on your own?" She struggled to keep up with The Cat, who didn't even look her way as it sashayed daintily forward on top of the snow. Behind the two spirits was only one trail of footprints. _Eerie_.

"Because I could care less about the outcome of this badly-written adventure- I just find you to be the most funny, pitiable, and potentially intriguing spirit to cross my path in a good century. If you _don't_ go, I'll leave you here _all alone_- and this is the _Bogeyman's _territory." The last part was said with the kind of epicaricacy that only a cat can muster. Elan stopped short as The Cat continued on, her mind was working overtime to take in what had just been said.

"The _what_? THAT KIND OF SHIT **_EXISTS_**!?"

Her pant leg was hooked by a claw when she squawked and turned around to run. There was a distinct feeling that the Cat was laughing at her, though it made no noise and there was no humor in its' voice when it spoke- only feline disdain.

"_Do _calm down, _he_ can't hurt us- in fact he's as harmless as a _parrrticularly_ annoying fly in his current state. Puck was uninformed when he said that he thought the 'shellycoat'("_So _**that's **_what that means"_ thought Elan) was behind things. He has been trapped underground and powerless for nearly two and a half years, and the Guardians were the ones to do it! Nonethelesss, his minions are running rampant around this countryside like a bunch of nerds during the zombie apocalypse, and it would do you little good to lose my companionship. We will go to this Sandman, and then you are free to do as you please, girl."

The way the Cat had purred out **'free to do as you please'** sounded an awful like **'free to do the next thing on my "How To Force Elan into an Adventure" list', **but nonetheless Elan stopped trying to run. Her pant leg was released and the Cat began to saunter away, again. Dejectedly, Elan followed the Cat- who was beginning to give her the aggravating sensation that she was no longer the main character _of her own goddamned story_. (To be fair, most cats give even the most normal people that feeling. Suddenly, making coffee in the morning turns into 'making coffee so that I am awake and ready to serve Lord Bootsies.')

She would go on this trek to the Sandman's abode, and then she would be on her merry way- Elan was still a coward, after all.


	8. Funny Thing Happened On the Way To Elan

**(A/N) I know it's short, but I figured we all needed something to laugh at, seeing as it's a Wednesday. Writing funny things is harder than normal writing, so tell me how I do! Also, the chapter title is a reference to a funny Avengers youtube vid, called "Funny thing happened on the way to Thor's hammer"**

**Also:**

**ICoulson: **

**I only have one thing to say in response to your review, dahling. **

***Grabs mic***

**Hey, I just met you**

**And this is crazy**

**So here's this chapter**

**Call me maybe?**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Funny Thing Happened On the way To Getting Elan**

**AKA:**

**IN WHICH JACK FROST LEARNS A VERY IMPORTANT LESSON ABOUT CATS**

* * *

"_Anyone who considers protocol unimportant has never dealt with a cat."_

_Rober A. Heinlein_

Spring is a _horrible _season.

Hey, now! Don't jump down my throat like that! It's all... wet and _melty_. Even worse, the sun turns from a white, shiny snowglobe into some hellacious _fireball in the sky_. It only gets _worse_ from there, of course until the whole shebang starts again.

Still, it was a good day (for Spring, at least). I was enjoying the last of the snow, which admittedly gets all nice and damp- _perfect_ for snowballs- when the warmer season begins to butt in on all the fun. Even though there was a few feet of snow, there weren't any kids out at this time of day for a rompin' good time- Canadians were crazy-hardcore when it came to snowdays. I once had to spend an _entire week_ escorting some of those tough (and creepily polite) little monsters to and from school-**through **_**a blizzard**__**.**_

So I was enjoying a walk through the woods and hoping that it was still too cold for Canadian Man to come out. I shivered. He was another (questionably) 'Legendary' character- made up of most other people's misconceptions about Canadians.

_Except they weren't misconceptions._

All he went around doing was being Canadian at tourists, or Americans, when he got bored. He'd do things like get wasted, but apologize profusely for being drunk, and he really did say 'eh' after every question.

Last time I met the guy, I renamed him the Super Lumberjack to get a rise out of him, but he didn't seem to mind. ("You can call me whatever you like, Jacko! Better than being called Moose, eh?")

Which was, of course, no fun- and _really_ _creepy._

I digress.

I was walking through the woods, minding my own business, when suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard a thump, a yelp, and then was bowled over by something green (_terrible_ color) and yellow. By the time I was back on my feet, though (snowball in hand)- there was nobody there. I huffed and scowled. Nobody played games with Jack Frost! (Unless I wanted them to, or it was funny... or... _never mind_. _**Everybody**_plays games with me)

"If that's you, Lumberjack, you'd better get out here _right now _and apologize!" Discretely, I shoved a rock into my snowball and grinned- but nothing stirred. I tried again. "You wouldn't want me to think you were_ RUDE _would you!?" That should get 'im!He'd be out of his hidey hole and full of 'Sorry's in no time!

Silly Canadians.

"What are you giggling about, boy?"

I yelped and threw my ammo at the voice, which earned me a yowl in return. I whipped around to see my victim, only to see a... cat? The cat hissed.

"That was totally uncalled for- and very RUDE!" And with that it pounced, claws outstretched.

"OH MY GOD IT'S THE BUNNY'S DEVIL COUSIN!" I had time to scream, before I was off. Still not fast enough to totally avoid a Cat, though- I pondered, as I nursed the scratch wound on the back of my leg.

Maybe next time, I'd talk first and shoot later.

…

…

…

_Nah_.


	9. Exit Light, Enter Night

**(A/N) This one's a bit longer, to make up for how short my little interlude was. Hope everyone is still enjoying the story. Okay, so I totally thought we were gonna meet the Sandman in this one, but I reached a point that was a REAAAAALLY good cliffhanger and the devil on my shoulder was like "Nyeessssss LEAVE THEM IN SUSPENSE! AND THEN- WORLD DOMINATION, MWAHAHAHAHA!" And so I giggled and stopped the chapter there, even though the part where they meet Sandy is gonna be uploaded, like, tonight. Everyone check out Solaheartnet's story, Karma. It provides some much needed Bunnylove to the fandom.**

**Solaheartnet: Yep! The Cat is what Joseph Campbell would call the hero's 'Supernatural Aid' eheheh- so he'll be sticking around for most, if not all of the story. He seems a bit too knowledgeable and sure of himself to be there for all of it, so he may leave for a while only to come back. Sort of like Gandalf in the Hobbit. Keeping him around would sort of make it so that Elan doesn't have room to grow and make decisions. There is gonna be a point in which Elan needs to _choose_ to be on this quest, without the urging of the Cat, and she has to decide what to do next without his advice. **

**ICoulson: You're cool, so I dunno... just keep doing... that *Gestures to all of you* **

**I gestured to all of you, you say?**

**Exactly.**

**(How to Train Your Dragon references FOR THE WINNNN!)**

* * *

Chapter 9:

In Which Feels are Had by All

_"You now have learned enough to see_  
_That Cats are much like you and me_  
_And other people whom we find_  
_Possessed of various types of mind._  
_For some are sane and some are mad_  
_And some are good and some are bad_  
_And some are better, some are worse —_  
_But all may be described in verse!"_

_~~T.S. Eliot, "The Ad-dressing of Cats"_

"Why don't _other_ cats talk?"

"Because it isn't worth the trouble; we quite like everything as it already is. We get milk, rats, and we own both houses and slaves who have opposable thumbs-quite useful. Why would we muck it up by spoiling humanity's delusion of being our 'owners'?"

There was a long pause while Elan mulled this over.

"Okay, that makes sense. Why are you following me around?"

The Cat gave a cat-sigh, inaudible, but visible by the quick drooping of its shoulders.

"_Why _do you insist on asking so many questions?" (Elan noted that the question had been dodged)

"Because I'm nervous- and it's _good_ to talk when you're nervous." Keeps the enemy distracted, she finished in her head. The Cat seemed to hear the unsaid thought, though, and snorted.

"I'm not your enemy, Kitten."

"Why do you call me Ki-" But by this point the Cat was completely fed up (To be fair, it was question number 42.)

"FOR _CREAM_SAKE WILL YOU JUST **SHUT UP!**?"

The Cat yowled. To escape the baneful girl's response, it hurried ahead of her, sleek black fur beginning to stand on end in indignant, Catty rage. Well, _that _conversation was over.

Elan, who had been walking behind the Cat, scowled petulantly- why was _she _being forced on this _stupid _walk with this _stupid _Cat and _then _not being allowed to talk? It was all because of that _vain __**git**_Puck and that _prick_, **Green**! He was probably just touring the Amazon and laughing it up- well _she'd_ show _him! _ Elan's rage mounted, washing away her jitters like a hurricane sweeps a snowflake. She'd get the Guardians on her side, hunt him down, and then BURN HIM! **WITH THE **_**LEMONS**__!_

She had completely forgotten that the plan was to tell the Sandman her situation and them be on her merry way. Her **safe **merry way. She was too busy plotting her revenge, after all.

The Cat, who rather didn't like being left out of a good joke, chanced a quick glance over one shoulder at the sound of mirth. The Girl was giggling and rubbing her hands together like a housefly. This elicited a shiver from the feline spirit, who decided not to ask. Nonetheless the Cat mused that maybe letting the Kitten walk behind wasn't such a good plan, and that maybe the rear would be a nicer, more enjoyable place to walk. Quietly, as though it had been the Cat's plan all along, it began to fall behind.

They walked that way for the entire day, with Elan planning to skin Green (The scapegoat for all her recent terror and frustration), and the Cat looking warily on. In fact, the Cat was so caught up in eyeing the Kitten's back, it didn't notice when the two of them had cleared the woods until they both were walking on a nicely paved street.

"Er." Said the Cat, uncertainty tinting its' voice for what may have been the first time in a century. It cleared its' throat and tried again, this time in a much more dignified way. "We are here."

Elan, who had been caught up in wondering if someone had gone ahead and invented combustible lemons for her spirit-murdering convenience, and if such an invention was easily attainable, looked up. She was rather shocked to find herself on a quaint little street that appeared to be a part of a slightly larger quaint little town, instead of the woods. All around her were rather old, shoddily made buildings, nonetheless made charming by window boxes filled with Spring's first flowers, and cutely decorated mailboxes. Obviously not an affluent community, but one that got by.

There wasn't a person in sight. She checked the position of the sun, which was just beginning to touch the tops of the trees- it was probably dinner-time for the mortals.

For a moment, Elan felt at a loss. It had been a while since she'd been around humans. All they did was make her feel incredibly lonely. That was a given, of course- many spirits such as herself, the ones who refused to let go of their humanity, found the idea that their 'fellow' humans couldn't see them jarring. Occasionally you'd get spirits so angry with being ignored that they'd do reckless things such as throwing household objects around. Such spirits disappeared quickly, and were never found again- obviously there were some unspoken rules to living on this plane, and someone who enforced them. Besides that, though, most spirits were directionless. That was the other thing; the worst part about being unseen wasn't that it made Elan feel lonely.

It made her feel like there wasn't a _point _to her existence_._ Why was she _here_? Who had _put _her here? What kind of idiot, after all, resurrected a coward as the spirit of Courage? Some of the more influential spirits had been summoned into being by the ever-mysterious Man in the Moon- a reward for being cool people, or something. Others had just... _coalesced_ into being when enough humans believed that they were there. There were a select few who existed simply because human nature demanded it. After all- if you are afraid of the dark long enough, the Universe will fill that dark with something to _truly _fear.

Elan had no idea where she fitted into the whole thing. She simply _was_.

Facing her, in the center of the street, sat the Cat. The Cat had been spectating, refereeing the intimately familiar play of emotions across the fellow spirit's face. As soon as the girl's anguished questioning morphed into self-pity, the Cat judged it time to interrupt.

"Elan." It wasn't the feline's gentle tone that got her attention; this was the first time it had used her name. "Most of us will never, ever know why we have been placed here. I, myself, have lived since the pyramids were nought but uncut stone, and have never been able to find a pattern to life. In this, you and I are the same- but we are _not _the only ones! Look around you."

There was a pregnant pause as Elan tried to do as the Cat had asked, looking for something interesting or new that would somehow be revealed by looking at the same old tableau; human lives, human structures, humans living- all in ignorance of her. Frustrated by the lack of messages the quiet street was sending her, she shrugged, sullen.

"There isn't anything here but humans, houses and cars." The Cat straightened and its' yellow eyes brightened for a brief moment, like lanterns on halloween.

"E_xac_tly." Elan's only response was an arched brow. The Cats' tail twitched in agitation at the young woman's recalcitrant behaviour. Deciding for the moment to change tack, the Cat continued. "Kitten, _how_ are spirits made?" Elan rolled her eyes and gave the Cat a look that screamed 'are you serious?'. What she got in return was that specific kind of poker face only cats (and card sharks) could muster. So she huffed, and recited the entire spiel about the power of belief- a rant all spirits knew by heart. Nodding like a schoolteacher, the Cat went on. "So why do humans believe so much? Why do they need gods and faeries and flamboyant fat men to give them presents? Why do they need Boogeym-"

"BECAUSE THEY'RE STUPID AND CAN'T JUST ACCEPT THAT THE WORLD IS A SHITTY, _MEANINGLESS_ LUMP OF-"

"Exactly!" Interrupted the Cat, looking like he had happened upon a mouse. "They know just about as much about this whole charade as you, me, or even Puck! But I digress- the reason I prattle on so _exhaustingly_ is this; obviously there IS no point to it! You needn't go looking around the world for evidence that you are here for some higher reason- and you needn't take your invisibility to humans as proof that you aren't- because the fact of the matter is this; you are here for no particular reason at all, until you _give _yourself one. There will be no pamphlet falling from the sky that reads 'Existence 101: Why You're Here and What to Do With It!'- you have to write your _own_ pamphlet, find your _own_ reason." Throughout the Cat's rant (which was the most Elan had ever heard it say) it paced, back and forth along the street, tail twitching every which way. Elan, who was both shocked and confused, could simply stand there with her mouth open, following the feline's movements with her head. "Despite all that- despite the fact that most being in their soul know that there is nothing meaningful to the Universe, they make meaning from it. They believe that there is _more_- and_ because _of that faith, more exists! You and I are _made_ of humanity's 'more'. Even if you can't find a path of your own, isn't there meaning in that? Isn't there _hope_?"

Elan, who had spent an awful lot of her life avoiding contact with others, was nonetheless a rather clever girl. This is an unexpected, undervalued, but fairly common trait in those who spend their lives running from just about everything. It takes guile to know how to lie to cover your tracks, and wit to know where your enemy won't find you. It takes understanding to see danger in another person's face. So yes, Elan, while cowardly, was rather smart- she considered it her one redeeming feature (next to her modesty, sense of humor, and good looks, of course).

What Elan saw in the Cat's last question was an honest need for an answer. This was a spirit who had lived for around two thousand years (if what the Cat said was true- anyone who believes everything a cat says will get exactly what's coming to them.), and who had spent the entire time just as confused and lonely as Elan. True, perhaps, that the Cat had a lot to say on the subject of their existence. Even more true, still, that the Cat had come more to terms with it than Elan herself had- but of course that was the case. After all, her companion spirit had had more time to get over it. But what Elan saw now was a being just as lost as she was, looking desperately for affirmation.

The Cat, who had been so wrapped up in schooling the Kitten, was unaware of her approach, too busy pacing and thinking of what to say next. A Cat is a cat, and cats rarely find the time to care about something that isn't furry, tailed, and named 'me' -but this Cat was different. This Cat had lived thousands of years among human spirits- and as anyone who has encountered a particularly disgusting stench would know; stench _rubs off._ In this case, the stink was human empathy, and perhaps a little whiff of hope. A hand landed on a furred head, and the Cat froze.

"I agree. There is hope." Elan began to scratch behind his ears. A rumble began in the Cat's throat, that Elan could only hope was a purr. After all, though large, the Cat was still simply a house cat. "Thanks, kitty."

"Wha- KITTY!?"

Before the Cat could scratch the offending wench accordingly, a stream of gold danced before its' eyes. Ignoring Elan's insult to the Great Race that is Cat-kind, the Cat smiled. It should be noted here that when a Cat smiles, those on the receiving end never quite know whether to return the smile, or run screaming.

"Ah, the Sandman is here!"

Elan looked up, looking for a human figure along the street. Instead she saw the familiar sight of golden sand. The phenomena was not unknown to any spirit who had been near humans at night. Like the others, Elan assumed it was just a representation of human dreams that only the Spirit World could see. But the Cat knew.

"All I see are dreams, Cat."

"And who do you thinksendsthe dreams, Kitten?" Before she could ask more of her infernal questions, the Cat crouched and was then on the roof- the only sign of its jump being the small breeze through Elan's hair. Wide eyed, she watched as the Cat sauntered over to one of the shining streamers. Delicately, as if testing water, the Cat prodded one, and finding it to his liking, he then leaped upon it. Elan's eyes widened further when the golden dream held the Cat aloft, as though it were a walkway. Giving the distinct impression of a smirk, the Cat looked down at her.

"Stay. I will go fetch the Sandman." It began to saunter up the golden cable, then seemed to remember something. "Ah, and avoid the shadows." At this, Elan finally found her voice.

"The shado- WHAT'S IN THE SHADOWS, CAT!?"

By that point, though, the Cat had disappeared. The street was once more empty, except this time it was empty and dark. Slowly, Elan turned around. There was a noise.

All she saw were two houses, crammed so closely together that they formed a thin alleyway- not even the streetlight illuminated it. The sound came again, and Elan froze and her eyes teared up in total fear.

"H-hullo?"

And the shadows responded- with a _chuckle._


	10. Enter Sandman

**(A/N) Sorry for the short chapter. I just can't stop it with the cliffhangers! It's an addiction. I'll use all this sexy extra space to respond to my equally sexy reviewers (Sexy is such a great adjective). ICoulson has made a FANTASTIC rendition of Elan (Who will be described in detail from Sandy's point of view in the next chapter) Go to her page and CHECK OUT HER DEVIANTART! :D**

** Maple: Inorite. I've got dual citizenship, but when traveling, I just say I'm Canadian. Why hide the truth? :D **

** Eggnoggered: *tips cap* I myself am an avid Cat fan, and have owned many permutations of it. Right now I have a ferret, which just seems to me to be a permanent kitten. We get along, so he'll probably appear in one way or another.**

** Lereniel: Here you go! Sorry if it isn't up to snuff- I've been a bit busy. I promise the next one will be soon, and will be well written!**

** Regal Panther: (See Maple)... (Marry me?) ...(No? Okay, that's fine. I have a ferret.)**

** RaistisHot: I'm really grokking your mouthspeak, right not.**

** Quadrillionare: (I never thought I'd say this) Go study- I like your review too much for you to fail.**

** Decepticonloser101: Here you go! **

** HalfBrachenDemon: Yeah, I love me too. Sorry about the Bunnymund confusion- he plays a huge role later on, and there will be fluff. And bunny tears. So just read on.**

** WhitWhit1893: I wish I would, but I can't. For you, I could try ;)**

** ICoulson: OMG I LOVE YOU NYESS THAT'S HOW SHE LOOKS! YOU ROCK! **

** Solaheartnet: Sorry for my absence! I've been busy with emergency things. I'll get beta-ing immediately! :D**

** LillithDemon: Here's what happens next:**

* * *

**Chapter 10: **

**"Enter Sandman"**

_In which Elan encounters a rather shadowy personage, _

_and Sandy invents the first game of cat-charade_

It wasn't fear that seized Elan by the spine; it was_ terror_. While the two sensations are mostly considered to be the same, to a connoisseur of shivers such as Elan, the distinction was palpable. With fear, you could think, hide, _run_- there were ways of saving yourself. Terror immobilized, terror was choking.

Right now, Elan was choking. She should have sensed it earlier. While the Cat had lectured her on Life, the Universe, and Everything, she had been unaware, unguarded- but the warnings had been there. Maggots ate her insides and her entire body quivered with the realization that behind the spell of the Cat's voice, the feeling of pursuit had been mounting.

The shadows of the alleyway coalesced, somehow, became more real. The black more black, the cold more cold- and still Elan stood frozen, gazing into the dark. The echoes of a vaguely feminine chuckle resounded again, this time louder-no! _Closer_. Ela couldn't think, she was a bundle of nerves all encased in ice; her eyes did not see and her feet seemed to melt into the ground beneath her. From the blackout in her brain, a voice that wasn't her own came tearing all the way through six centuries' worth of suppression.

"_**Come, listen! Hide where it is safe, flee run, run, RUN!" **_

Pygmalion couldn't have done a better job of bringing statues to life; that echoing voice was one Elan had been geared to obey since before she died. She couldn't feel her feet, and she couldn't feel her lungs, but houses and streets sped by, so she knew she was running. Terror's spell was lifted and all that remained was fear- and fear was something Elan could work with. It made her glance around every corner, slow her flight to a human sprint so as not to run headlong into the very thing she fled- fear made her eyes wide and seeing and so fear made her spot what terror would have blinded her to: in the distance, a cloud of gold was gathering.

_The Sandman! The Cat! Safetysafetysafety!_ Roared her blood in one fearful command, and her feet obeyed with a sharp turn. Between her shoulderblades, she could feel a stare that was worse than being chased. The heavy regard of a predator that had finally found its' prey.

To say that Sandy and the Cat didn't like each other would be wrong; the hatred was completely one-sided. Where the Sandman simply mistrusted the ancient Cat, the Cat despised Sandy all the way to the last hair on his tail. The reason for this is the same reason that humans tend to 'misplace' all laser pointers before too long- cats cannot stand temptation that is out of their reach. Being animals that embody the ancient precepts of hedonism, cats indulge in every worldly delight that is available- killing, eating, sleeping... dreaming.

And the Cat could not dream. Thousands of years, watching golden bliss drift into the ears of humans, cats, even dogs, and never a single granule for the legendary feline. So of course the Cat hated Sandy.

Sandy, for his part, mistrusted the Cat (as any smart sandperson would), but bore no ill will. If he could talk, he would express to the Cat that perhaps its' inability to dream came not from Sandy (who would have the trees dreaming if he could) but from inside. This probably wouldn't help matters at all- which is why it is incredibly fortunate that Elan came screaming into the middle of what was becoming a very complicated game ofcharades, in which the Cat was trying to tell Sandy about the state of affairs, and Sandy was interrupting with pictures of cats and cats' hearts.

'?'

"Kitten?"

"There's a thing..." Elan panted at the Cat(she didn't need breath, she just needed a reason to pause) "...a thing in the stuff with the shadows!" Her shaking had gotten so bad that she felt like her bones would fly apart. A concerned-looking sphere appeared in her vision, and the shaking got even worse. "What is that? There's a golden snowball in here!" In here being the cloud of golden sand that Elan had dived into like a kid dives under the covers. Somewhere to hide her head. From the inside, it looked rather more like a room.

A room with a sphere that had a face. Elan's panic mounted- you have to understand. We're talking about a spirit who until now had drifted across the globe like the colours on a soap bubble. She had been only half-real, even to herself. Never seen, never permanent, and completely inert. Occasionally she'd alight in the realm of a friendly spirit, and at those times pieces of her long-forgotten personality would be forced to the surface, but for the most part she had been as mindless and as untouchable as the wind itself. For the first time in centuries, Elan was interacting with the world, and the world had been interacting back. It was exhausting, stressful, and worst of all , it was _frightening_.

And now she was in a room with a sphere that had a face.

_Well,_ she thought, vision blurring, _there's nothing for it, really. _

The Cat took a dainty step to the side, and Elan landed on her face.

_Really_, thought the Cat, who despite himself was exchanging the Look with Sandy, _**women**_.


End file.
